Apart
by EarlySummer
Summary: After an argument with Sherlock John left Baker Street. How does Sherlock deal with the situation? OS


**Disclaimer: I do not owe Sherlock & Co. **

**(Thanks to my beta reader!)**

**Apart**

1

He slipped in and out of consciousness but most of the time his world was black and cold. _Why was it so cold?_ He couldn't remember anything. _Pain._ Waves of pain got through his body again and again. He shivered slightly but he couldn't remember when it had begun. Oh God, his head was killing him. _Pain._ Please, stop. A last thought tried to come up. "John" whispered he before he was unconsciousness again. Nobody knew that Sherlock lay helplessly on the floor of Baker Street and therefore, the world moved on as though nothing had happened.

2

5 days before

"I can't believe it, Sherlock. Really, I know that you see the world… let's say: a little bit differently but you can't say something like that to a 6-year-old girl. You just can't." John walked up and down. His face became red and his eyes sparkled with anger.

"Why are you so angry, John? Is it because of me or because of the death of the girl's father?" Sherlock asked almost bored and continued to play the violin.

"SHERLOCK! STOP IT, NOW!" John pointed towards the instrument, "Can you not understand that the loss of a family member is really hard to cope with, especially for a little girl. You just can't say 'Sorry, but I've seen you father's death. He's got two bullets in his head but the good thing is, I know who the murderer is. So, John, let us go home. I am hungry.'" John echoed angrily.

"It is not my fault that she was with us in the room. I mean, why was she at the police station in the first place?"

"Because her father just died and her mother lives in Germany. She was waiting for child protective service." John said, "But the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't wait for a second because he must bring up his conclusion immediately so that everybody can see_ how_ clever he really is. But shall I tell you a thing? You may be clever, your brain may work in a different way than my brain does but you are heartless. That's why I am absolutely glad that I am not you. I have a heart and I will use it to help the little girl. You, Sherlock, you can do whatever you want but please do not expect that I will return." With this sentence John went into his room and packed his bags. Unorganised, he just tossed everything inside while Sherlock was watching him.

"Come on, John," he said with a tone of arrogance which helped John to pack faster, "You can't be serious. It wasn't my fault that the father of this little girl got shot. I just helped to solve the mystery and found the killer - in less than three hours."

"Oh, great. Maybe you should ask Lestrade if he will give you a medal for your great deeds," the blonde man snapped, "But please, stop talking to me. And don't call me. I won't answer." And with that John left not only Baker Street but also a quite puzzled Sherlock.

3

The smooth ride of the train calmed John down. He didn't know why he was so disappointed. Everybody has warned him. "He is a freak." "A psychopath." "He doesn't have a heart, so don't expect that he will be easy to live with." John heard the various voices again and again. He knew that Sherlock was different but was he so disappointed because of Sherlock or because of himself? John considered himself a very kind, calm man. Did he think that he could change a Sherlock Holmes? Yes, and he failed. A man without heart can't be loved. Even if you try, you'll fail. He learnt his lesson.

4

Sherlock was doing one of his strange experiments when DI Lestrade called him. He tried to ignore the disturbing noise but Lestrade was very persistent and John… John wasn't there to answer the phone.

"Lestrade, I don't have time to help you with your little problem today,"Sherlock said, irritated.

"Sherlock, it is not a little problem. The Government…" One second later the conversation was finished.

"I don't have time for such unimportant things," muttered the consulting detective before he continued his experiment. It was almost midnight when he mixed the last chemical with another. He didn't notice how fast time had run but now he could feel the pain in his eyes, in his back and above all in his head. He yawned and despite the tiredness which spread through his body he didn't go to bed. An unfamiliar sense of anxiety didn't give him the peace he needed. Unknowingly his fingers had begun to drum before he grabbed his mobile phone again. No new message. He bit his lower lip and started typing: _Where are you? SH_ but before he could push the send button he tossed his phone away. No, he wouldn't take the first step. John had left him, so John had to say sorry initially. Suddenly his phone rang. Sherlock nearly jumped off his sofa to get his phone. Disappointment could be found in his face as he read the message:

_Don't be childish. MH_

Mycroft didn't know anything. He wasn't childish. He was just… just irritated. John was his only friend. Sherlock believed that the former army doctor had accepted him in the way he was but that was obviously not true. John was just as superficial as everybody else. And Sherlock knew that he didn't need a man like him at all. He didn't need anybody. Alone is what he had and alone protected him. With these thoughts he drifted into an unsettled sleep.

The next day started very similar to the one before. Sherlock got up a little bit later than usual, made himself some tea and had a short read of the newspaper. He couldn't see anything about Lestrade'scase, therefore the DI hadn't solved the problem yesterday which meant that Lestradewas going to call him again. Sherlock yawned. Honestly, he wouldn't mind if Lestrade was going to call him. He was slightly bored after his last experiment went well and furthermore, he needed distraction. It wasn't that he felt lonely or something, it just didn't feel right to be at Baker Street at the moment. Therefore Sherlock decided to go for a walk.

A cold breeze was blowing outside. He started shivering despite his warm coat and wandered aimlessly through the town. Thoughts were buzzing in his head but Sherlock didn't pay attention to any of them. Only the sound of his phone brought him back to reality. It was Lestrade, whosaid something about robbery and murder and that he needed the help of Sherlock. Of course Sherlock went to help him but a strange feeling of incompleteness was still with him.

5

"Oh no, not the Freak again," murmured Donovan when she saw Sherlock arriving at the crime scene. The crime scene itself was off the beaten track of London in one of the smaller suburbs. There was just one old house with a white front and a blue roof surrounded by a rampant garden. While walking, Sherlock made his first deductions. He could see the traces of an ambulance as well as the traces of police. Footprints of Donovan, Lestrade, Anderson and a couple of people he didn't know were scattered across the property. The muddy ground served well for his purpose of tracking.

"Donovan…" Sherlock stopped for a brief moment, "Oh, has your little adventure with Anderson already come to an end? I can understand you. Anderson is… - well, he isn't very smart, is he?" he said after looking at her for just a brief moment.

"But, what, that's not…" the woman started but Sherlock cut her off. "I love you speedy answers. They are always so snappy." He laughed and walked away.

"Sherlock," the DI said friendly as he spotted the man, "this case is a real mystery for me."

"Like usual but pray continue."

"Yeah… thank you," the grey-haired man said dryly, "By the way where is John?"

Sherlock frowned."At work. But you know that I solve crimes. Therefore, my help is important – and here I am. Please state the facts you have already collected."

" have to know that this is the house of the victim. The man, Andrew Jones, is a widower and he lives with his only daughter Jeannette."

"How old?" interrupted the consulting detective.

"Well, the man is 56 years old and his daughter is just 17,"Lestrade said before he continued, "He is the manager of a chain of shops in London. Therefore the family is not only wealthy but the father is also a rainmaker. And last night…"

"Andrew Jones was shot dead," finished Sherlock, shifting uncomfortable from one side to another, "I already know that." Although Lestrade should be used to Sherlock incredible skills he turned to him in surprise: "How do you know that?" The tall man just snorted derisively before he started: "First of all Anderson is here. That means somebody has been murdered. Easy, hmm? And you just told me about the man and his daughter. During your explanations I could see the pity in your eyes when you mentioned the age of the daughter. Just 17," Sherlock echoed.

"This all sounds logical," said Lestrade "But you've missed a thing. Not only was the father shot but also the daughter was hurt. And until now it seems like she shot her own father. The question is why?" Lestrade frowned, "Why would a daughter shoot the father?"

Sherlock didn't say anything because he spotted a man who came to his attention near the house surrounded by several police officers.

"Who is that man?"

"Oh," said the DI, "That's the man who found both father and daughter hurt in the living room. He had an appointment with Mr Jones at 9 o'clock but nobody answered when he came knocking on the door. He was concerned because Mr Joneswas a very reliable person therefore he decided to look through the window in the living room. Well – you know the rest of the story."

"Do I?" Sherlock asked sceptical, "What about the door and the windows? Everything was locked I assume?" Lestrade nodded. "And just Mr Jones and his daughter lived in this house?" Again Lestrade just nodded. "I am also confident that the girl is still unconscious wherefore you couldn't ask her about what happened?"

"Yes, that's right. There can't be another option. She must have shot her father."

"There can't be another option or you can't see another option? You shouldn't always believe what you see." And with that Sherlock headed to the house. He ignored Anderson's usual "You're contaminating the crime scene." before he could finally see the dead body.

The man lay on his back. Immediately Sherlock could see that the bullet wound was directly in his heart. Furthermore the man was still in his dressing gown which meant that he was surprised by someone in the middle of the night.  
"John, give me…" Sherlock stopped. Suddenly his heart felt ice cold. His fingers started to tremble. 'John wasn't here. He didn't need John. Everything is fine' he tried to calm himself.

"Well, I mean: Lestrade give me a… but it's no longer important. I.." he stammered, "I've found a clue. She didn't shoot her father. Actually, I've solved the whole case. Lestrade if you could arrest the man who found Mr. Jones please. I have to go."

"But Sherlock!" Lestrade cried and prevented the taller man from leaving by holding his arm, "I just can't arrest a man because you told me to do. I need explanations."

"You have your damn explanations all in this room. Just observe!" Sherlock said angrily. His headache was getting stronger with every second. "Just use your brain for once in a life time." He tried to pull himself free but Lestrade's grip was firm.

"Sherlock, please." the man whispered, "You know that I need your help."

"Well, fine. Where shall I begin?" Sherlock recollected. He forced a steady breath through his body. His eyes were closed – just for a second – before he explained everything as fast as usually.

"Have you seen the window sill? There is mud upon it as well as on Mr Jones' pyjama. Due to the fact that it was raining just last night it is predictable that the window was opened at night. Furthermore you can see a third bullet hole in the window frame. So, it's more than obvious that more than one person has actually shot. One bullet was fired by Mr Jones' and two by the offender. He shot Mr. John on purpose but the girl was at the wrong place at wrong time."

"But why?" Lestrade asked confused.

"Mr Jones was wealthy. He was a manager. He made his own decisions and of course not everybody likes these decisions. I assume that the offender had an argument with Mr Jones in the past and that he wanted revenge. Therefore he went to his house at night and waited until the window was opened. He shot Mr Jones in a timely moment but he didn't notice that the man shot at him at the same moment. At least Mr Jones had a gun in his pocket of his dressing gown. – You can actually see burn marks on his right hand. But unfortunately Mr Jonesmissed the offender who was surprised by the shot fired that he shot again. – This time the shot wasn't very accurate. Everything happened very quickly. Even the offender only noticed afterwards that he shot the girl. He was confused because that wasn't the plan therefore he had to react fast. He stole the gun from Mr Jones and threw the gun away as he was fleeing."

"But why was he still sticking around? I mean HE called the police."

"Yeah, let's call it stupid human feelings of pity. He actually loved that girl. That's why he called the police. He feels sorry for shooting her. It wasn't the plan," Sherlock answered boredly."You understand that I'll go now. You should find both guns all by yourself. I believe in you." said Sherlock with a tiredly half-smile.

"But… WHAT? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT HE LOVES HER?" Lestrade cried but Sherlock was going home without looking back. He was lucky that the police cars covered the moment in which he swayed. His head was completely filled with pain and his visions started to blur every once in a while but he told himself that he just needed to sleep and that all of this hadn't anything to do with John and the unusual feeling of being alone.

6

"Watson," said the blond man as he answered the phone.

"Finally" Lestrade sighed relieved, "I've been trying to get you on the phone for hours now. What are you doing? Where are you?"

"Why are you asking? Am I a suspect of your current case or what?" John laughed.

"No, no. Are you with Sherlock?"

"No, I'm on… holiday." John said uncertain, "I've been visiting my sister for a couple of days now. Why are you asking?"

"Well, I've been trying to get Sherlock on the phone. He helped me with a case yesterday. As usual he was brilliant but something wasn't right. I could feel it but I couldn't put my finger on it. And asking Sherlock wasn't an option, you know what I mean." The older man laughed unsurely, "So, I called him yesterday and today. I even knocked at your door but nobody opened."

"Yeah, Mrs Hudson is at her sister's," John took a deep breath before he continued, "Lestrade, you should know that Sherlock and I – we had an argument a couple of days before. That's way I'm not at the Baker Street at the moment. And honestly, I don't want to call him. He wouldn't even answer. Furthermore you know that he does these strange experiments or that there are days in which he doesn't say a word to anybody. So let's just wait. Everything is fine."

"I don't know, John," the DI said softly, "You didn't see him yesterday. He was pale and a kind of snappish. He just solved the crime and went home. And now I can't get him on the phone. "

John didn't know what to say but he could hear the voices of his heart and his brain arguing. - One voice in favour of calling Sherlock and the other against it. It was a struggle of emotions. Only Lestrade's voice disturbed his thoughts.

"John? Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, I am," he exhaled slowly, "Listen, I can't be at Baker Street before 6 p.m. I give you permission to break in our flat and afterwards you'll call me and tell me that Sherlock is alright. – Maybe bored but alright. Okay?"

The DI accepted the proposal but you could tell from the scratched tone of his voice that he wasn't glad about this decision. Nevertheless he went again to the flat of his friends' accompanied by growing worries. His fingers were cold at the moment he pressed the button of the doorbell again. Nothing happened. His fingers started to tremble as he rang for a last time before he took out the little tool he needed to break in. He was a detective, therefore he shouldn't be proud but he only needed two minutes to open the door. It was easy, far too easy to be honest. The DI looked at the door and could see that it wasn't locked, just closed. The same feeling of tension and suspense he always had before he went to a crime scene spread through his body as he went upstairs.

"Sherlock?" he called loudly but still no response, "I'll enter now. Okay?"

The silence was surrounding him more and more with every second which elapsed. The first thing he saw was the empty living room. He saw a cup of tea on the table, the cup still full, and the yesterday's newspaper right next to it.

"Sherlock?" the DI asked again. His voice suddenly seemed to be throaty and his heart was pounding loudly in his ears but when he saw Sherlock's black coat hanging on the door, he knew that the younger man must be here. At this moment he also knew that his feelings were right. Sherlock was in danger. Every precaution was forgotten as he ran into the next room, only the body on the floor of the bathroom stopped him.

"Shit, Sherlock." Lestrade whispered. The younger man lay unconsciously on the floor, only wearing his black trousers and a purple shirt which was unbuttoned. Lestrade kneeled down and pressed his index and his middle finger against Sherlock's throat. He relaxed slightly as he felt a steady pulse but the track of blood which he spotted on the floor next to Sherlock's head made him hurry up. Because any attempt to wake the consulting detective didn't work the grey-haired man instantly called for an ambulance. While waiting he took off his jacket and placed it on the younger man. He hoped that his warm jacket could give the unconscious body a little bit of heat back. He hoped, nearly prayed, that Sherlock would open his eyes and give him a snappy comment about his last case and above all, that he didn't need his jacket because he felt completely fine, but nothing happened. The only thing Lestrade could hear was his own breathing. Due to a sudden urge, he checked the pulse again. Everything was like before, nothing had changed. Sherlock was stable, the ambulance would arrive in any second and John would be here in the evening and all of them would talk and laugh and… oh God, who was he kidding? This situation was totally out of his control. He didn't know what would happen in the next seconds. Therefore he was very surprised when Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

"John?" he slurred.

"No, it's me. Greg Lestrade," the DI tried to look into the eyes which were closed so fast that he thought they had never been opened.

"Sherlock, come on," he gently stroked his face, "I need you to talk to me. Tell me what happened!"

"I…," the other man stuttered barely audible, the eyes still closed, "I tried to shave – I think."

"Okay. What happened next?" Lestrade tried to push him to more coherent words but instead of a response he could only see how the larger man tried to stand up. The body shifted slightly accompanied by an unheard sound of pain.

"No, lie still," a gentle hand pressed Sherlock down, "You may be hurt. Well actually there is blood on the floor. So you are hurt. Please, do me a favour and lie still." He was surprised that the younger man followed his plea. Just at this moment he could hear the shrill sound of the door bell. The ambulance, finally, he thought as he opened the door. Two paramedics entered the room. He followed them back to Sherlock but remained unsurely in the door frame while they were working on him. Lestrade felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life. All the tension left his body suddenly because he knew that Sherlock was safe now; he had found him in time. Everything was going to be okay.

7

It was just a few minutes after 6 p. m. and Lestrade was sitting in a white chair next to Sherlock. It was a huge relief that he could see the younger man sleeping now, not being unconscious like before. It was a notable difference, a relaxing difference. His thoughts started drifting away as a quiet knock, followed by the entering of a well-known figure, disturbed the silence.

"John," Lestrade whispered. "Good to see you." Brown eyes were scanning the room before they looked straight from Sherlock's face into the eyes of the DI.

"How is he?"

"Well, considering the circumstances he is fine. Not really, but not really bad either." Lestrade started mumbling but was immediately interrupted. Although John's voice was just a whisper, his concern was obvious.

"What happened?"

"I found him on the floor of your bathroom, unconsciously. He has a cut on the back of his head which has led to a concussion."

"Why did he faint in the first place?"

"Dehydration and it seems like he hasn't eaten much lately. I think he just overworked himself. I asked a lot for his help lately. Apropos work, I am really sorry but I have to go now. There is still a lot of paper work on my desk." A last good bye could be heard before the DI left silently. But John didn't hear him. His thoughts were already circling around the DI's words 'overworked', 'dehydration', 'concussion'. He knew that something wasn't right but at the moment he couldn't put a finger on it. He needed to talk to Sherlock.

Minutes went by silently but his thoughts remained circling. Did he feel guilty for that what had happened? Yes? No? He didn't know. Of course, Sherlock was his friend but he was not Sherlock's watchdog. A friend, just a friend…

"A penny for your thoughts." Sherlock's voice was rough but audible.

"Hey," John tried to say more but he couldn't utter a word.

"Hey," Sherlock just echoed his friend. Something was wrong, wasn't in place. John's behaviour… his eyes? He tried to see the truth but his brain was still clouded by the pain killers. A groan escaped his lips, barely audible but it was enough to bring John back to reality.

"Are you in pain? "

"No, I am fine – just a headache."

Again a wall of silence which was uncommon for John and Sherlock was suddenly between them. It was the first time that Sherlock felt unsure. He could feel something like anxiety crawling up from his stomach to his throat, grabbing his heart with its cold fingers, because he wasn't able to read John anymore.

"Are you angry with me?" Sherlock asked slowly. A half-smile of the other man was enough to loosen the grip on Sherlock's heart.

"No, I am not angry. Not anymore. Actually, you should be angry with me. I overreacted last time. I talked with Harry about our argument. You must understand that I needed it because it was her who finally opened my eyes. It was just wrong to try to change your behaviour. I mean, you are a grown man. You can make your own decisions and I, I just can give you my advice from time to time but I shouldn't force you to see the world like I do. I am sorry."

Sherlock smiled. He just realised how he had missed his friend, his honesty, his loyalty and the warm feeling he always had around his heart when the older man was with him. -Thoughts, which remained unspoken but could be felt by every human-being.

"I am glad that you are back," Sherlock said instead, while suppressing a yawn. "When will I be released? Today?" But before John could answer the younger man drifted in a settled sleep. John laughed. No, not today but tomorrow and with the beginning of a new day they would make a new start, their friendship stronger than ever. And maybe in a quiet moment he would ask Sherlock what really had happened.


End file.
